I Can’t Wait To Get Old

That special time in your life has finally come. Everything in your body hurts. You’re ingesting more medication than actual food. Your family only comes to see you during the holidays, wondering if you’re actually still alive. Welcome to old age! While I can only speculate as to how god-fucking awful it is to have little-to-no use of your reproductive organs or having to deal with a nagging family who wants to know what’s in your will, I’m actually looking forward to being more in common with a fossil than not. For now it’s nice to be able to have full use of my extremities, an under active bladder and knowing who the president is, but eventually all of that becomes tiresome and the ability to forget most of my family will seem more worth it. Most see becoming older than Moses’ pubes as lousy thing, but being Mr. fucking Sunshine (my unofficial title), I try to look at the positives of every situation.

Imagine a day comes where you wake up, hobble to the bathroom, make an epic breakfast and then literally do whatever the fuck you want to. That’s what life after retirement will be like! Want to sit on your ass and watch reruns of TV from 40 years ago? Does leering at strangers and neighbors from your living room window seem like fun? Ever dream of calling and complaining to Walgreen’s about your consistently late prescriptions? Now that you’re old, all of this is expected. You can even break social norms and climb some overrated mountain to prove to those around you that, although you’ve had 3 hip replacements and frequently forget who most of your friends and family are, you can still be a complete badass.

Old and awesome doesn’t happen often enough

At this stage in life, of the many things that become apparent, only one should matter: time is of the essence. Everything you do on a regular basis has become a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time before any one of us meets our untimely end by falling down a flight of stairs and being an ass hair’s reach from our Life Alert button or mixing up Monday and Tuesday’s medication. With the cold hand of death ready to jack slap your bitch ass at any given moment, what is one to do? The answer is simple: sell all your shit and spend all your money. Why? Because you’re so ancient and externally miserable to the outside world, most of you family is counting down the days when they can crack open your will and bank on you having hidden stock in Apple somewhere. From the grave, just imagine the looks on their faces as the lawyer conveys that all you have left are your dentures, family photots and an oil painting of your beloved cat Milo.

Another reason I can’t wait to be among the geriatrics of the world is that I can blame everything wrong I do on being old. I literally relieve all personal responcibilities as a decent human being just because I am in posession of an AARP card and can order off of the Senior Menu at restaruants. Why did I just run a red light doing a buck twenty through a school zone in my 1983 Cutlass Supreme? Because I’m blind and deaf motherfucker! And I’ll make sure I let you know at the highest decible level humanly possible. Were you trying to get somewhere on time? Let me drive 15 miles per hour under the speed limit and forget to use my turn signals at every intersection. At the supermarket, I’ll make sure I’m that wrinkly bastard that is paying for a $200 order with expired coupons from the nineties and $2 bills. At this point, I’ve been alive long enough to not give a rat’s ass about wasting another half hour counting pennies to pay for what might be my last meal on this earth.

Get outta the way fuckers!

If you play out life the way it’s meant to be (by not doing a bunch of blow or cleaning tiger cages at the zoo) you’ll most likely live to slowly decompose with the rest of humanity. Take advantage of that fact that your fragile hips can give out at any minute and you can kill yourself by falling three feet to the floor. As pathetic as that shit sounds, you’ll learn take pride in the misery you’ll be causing others before your charred remains are dumped somewhere overly sentimental and insignificant so your family doesn’t have to worry about talking to a slab of granite for the next few decades.

Living life like I’m gonna die on the crapper,

Jersey John

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